World Without End

“Books.”

“And why have you brought me a chest of books?”

“I was told to.” Realising, after a moment, that this answer was insufficiently informative, he added: “By Brother Sime.”

Caris raised her eyebrows. “Is Sime making me a gift of books?” She opened the chest.

Joshie made his escape without answering the question.

The books were medical texts, all in Latin. Caris looked through them. They were the classics: Avice

Joshie reappeared with another chest.

“What now?” said Caris.

“Medical instruments. Brother Sime says you are not to touch them. He will come and put them in their proper places.”

Caris was dismayed. “Sime wants to keep his books and instruments here? Is he pla

Joshie did not know anything about Sime’s intentions, of course.

Before Caris could say any more, Sime appeared, accompanied by Philemon. Sime looked around the room then, without explanation, began unpacking his things. He moved some of Caris’s vessels from a shelf and replaced them with his books. He took out sharp knives for opening veins, and the teardrop-shaped glass flasks used for examining urine samples.

Caris said neutrally: “Are you pla

Philemon answered for him, clearly having anticipated the question with relish. “Where else?” he said. His tone was indignant, as if Caris had challenged him already. “This is the hospital, is it not? And Sime is the only physician in the priory. How shall people be treated, if not by him?”

Suddenly the pharmacy did not seem so spacious any more.

Before Caris could say anything a stranger appeared. “Brother Thomas told me to come here,” he said. “I am Jonas Powderer, from London.”

The visitor was a man of about fifty dressed in an embroidered coat and a fur hat. Caris noted his ready smile and affable ma

“Are you a physician, sir?” Philemon asked. His tone was cautious: he was not sure of Jonas’s status.

“Apothecary. I have a shop in Smithfield, next to St Bartholomew’s hospital. I shouldn’t boast, but it is the largest such business in the city.”

Philemon relaxed. An apothecary was a mere merchant, well below a prior in the pecking order. With a hint of a sneer he said: “And what brings the biggest apothecary in London all the way down here?”

“I was hoping to acquire a copy of the Kingsbridge Panacea.”

“The what?”

Jonas smiled knowingly. “You cultivate humility, Father Prior, but I see this novice nun making a copy right here in your pharmacy.”

Caris said: “The book? It’s not called a panacea.”

“Yet it contains cures for all ills.”

There was a certain logic to that, she realized. “But how do you know of it?”

“I travel a good deal, searching for rare herbs and other ingredients, while my sons take care of the shop. I met a nun of Southampton who showed me a copy. She called it a panacea, and told me it was written in Kingsbridge.”

“Was the nun Sister Claudia?”

“Yes. I begged her to lend me the book just long enough to make a copy, but she would not be parted from it.”

“I remember her.” Claudia had made a pilgrimage to Kingsbridge, stayed in the nu

“A remarkable work,” Jonas said warmly. “And in English!”

“It’s for healers who aren’t priests, and therefore don’t speak much Latin.”

“There is no other book of its kind in any language.”

“Is it so unusual?”

“The arrangement of subjects!” Jonas enthused. “Instead of the humours of the body, or the classes of illness, the chapters refer to the pains of the patient. So, whether the customer’s complaint is stomach ache, or bleeding, or fever, or diarrhoea, or sneezing, you can just go to the relevant page!”

Philemon said impatiently: “Suitable enough for apothecaries and their customers, I am sure.”

Jonas appeared not to hear the note of derision. “I assume, Father Prior, that you are the author of this invaluable book.”

“Certainly not!” he said.

“Then who…?”

“I wrote it,” Caris said.

“A woman!” Jonas marvelled. “But where did you get all the information? Virtually none of it appears in other texts.”

“The old texts have never proved very useful to me, Jonas. I was first taught how to make medicines by a wise woman of Kingsbridge, called Mattie, who sadly left town for fear of being persecuted as a witch. I learned more from Mother Cecilia, who was prioress here before me. But gathering the recipes and treatments is not difficult. Everyone knows a hundred of them. The difficulty is to identify the few effective ones in all the dross. What I did was to keep a diary, over the years, of the effects of every cure I tried. In my book, I included only those I have seen working, with my own eyes, time after time.”

“I am awestruck to be speaking to you in person.”

“Well, you shall have a copy of my book. I’m flattered that someone should come such a long way for it!” She opened a cupboard. “This was intended for our priory of St-John-in-the-Forest, but they can wait for another copy.”

Jonas handled it as if it were a holy object. “I am most grateful.” He produced a bag of soft leather and gave it to Caris. “And, in token of my gratitude, accept a modest gift from my family to the nuns of Kingsbridge.”

Caris opened the bag and took out a small object swathed in wool. When she unwrapped the material she found a gold crucifix embedded with precious stones.

Philemon’s eyes glittered with greed.

Caris was startled. “This is a costly present!” she exclaimed. That was less than charming, she realized. She added: “Extraordinarily generous of your family, Jonas.”

He made a deprecatory gesture. “We are prosperous, thanks be to God.”

Philemon said enviously: “That – for a book of old women’s nostrums!”

Jonas said: “Ah, Father Prior, you are above such things, of course. We do not aspire to your intellectual heights. We do not try to understand the body’s humours. Just as a child sucks on a cut finger because that eases the pain, so we administer cures only because they work. As to why and how these things happen, we leave that to greater minds than ours. God’s creation is too mysterious for the likes of us to comprehend.”

Caris thought Jonas was speaking with barely concealed irony. She saw Oonagh smother a grin. Sime, too, picked up the undertone of mockery, and his eyes flashed anger. But Philemon did not notice, and he seemed mollified by the flattery. A sly look came over his face, and Caris guessed he was wondering how he could share in the credit for the book – and get some jewelled crucifixes for himself.

The Fleece Fair opened on Whit Sunday, as always. It was traditionally a busy day for the hospital, and this year was no exception. Elderly folk fell ill after making a long journey to the fair; babies and children got diarrhoea from strange food and foreign water; men and women drank too much in the taverns and injured themselves and each other.

For the first time, Caris was able to separate the patients into two categories. The rapidly diminishing number of plague victims, and others who had catching illnesses such as stomach upsets and poxes, went into the new building, which was officially blessed by the bishop early in the day. Victims of accidents and fights were treated in the old hospital, safe from the risk of infection. Gone were the days when someone would come into the priory with a dislocated thumb and die there of pneumonia.